“Would you be a dear and bring me a few more boxes so I can continue living my life?” I said sarcastically.
“Hey, Franklin. Come in here for a second?” she called out to one of the other detectives. She stood motionless, perplexed. Within moments Franklin, the same guy who had just been in here, stepped back into my now overly crowded study.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” he asked.
“Didn’t I . . . ask you to box up everything in this office?” she asked.
Franklin glanced at the bookshelves that once again hosted a number of my personal effects. He nodded. “Yeah. Simmons and I both were in here a few hours ago and everything should’ve been . . . wow, that’s weird.”
“Weird? Explain.”
“Sorry, Detective, but it’s just . . . we had everything boxed up in here. I swear. I was just in here a few minutes ago, and—”
“Does this look like everything is boxed up?” The detective interrupted him and motioned to the bookshelves.
“Um, no. I’ll, um, get it done right away,” Franklin said, clearly embarrassed.
“And make it quick. Transport is supposed to be here within the hour, and all this needs to get to the crime lab ASAP.”
Hearing that, the gravity of the situation really hit home. I was about to lose everything I’ve ever owned, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
Determined to at least slow them down, I darted from room to room, looking for any unoccupied space. Stepping into the master closet, I found all of my clothes had been boxed, along with all of my hats. As fast as I could, I rehung everything I could that had hangers. I took the box of hats and just dumped them on the floor. As I stepped back into the master bedroom, the smile on my face vanished. Two movers were hauling out our bedroom furniture.
I ran past them and into the living room and found that half of the furniture had already been taken out of the apartment. As soon as the two guys carrying the mattress walked out the front door, I found myself alone. I grabbed as many boxes as I could, ran them back into the bedroom, and scattered their contents across the bedroom floor.
“You know, you should be careful with that stuff,” a voice came from behind me. Startled and caught off guard, I turned so fast I nearly lost my balance. Hauser was leaning against the wall, picking at the cuticles on his left hand.
“What . . . what are you doing here?” I asked.
“I should ask you the same. Don’t you have a job to do?”
“I, uh, I’ll get there. I just want to . . . find something in here,” I stammered.
“You know, Jack, all of these things, these possessions, they don’t mean a thing. They’re all items that were once yours and Cyndi’s, but not anymore.”
“Then what’s going to happen to them? Neither of us have any family,” I said.
“Does it matter, Jack? Does it really matter what’s gonna happen to any of it? It’ll all probably be donated after it sits in some police storage warehouse for ten years. And that’s something that neither you nor I can control.”
“But it’s my stuff,” I pleaded.
“And now it’s not. I hate to be so direct about this, but the moment you died, you lost everything. You lost your right to possess. You lost your right to live.” Hauser paused. “Listen, buddy, I know where you’re coming from. I’ve been there many times before. You can do this.”
“I don’t understand. How is it that you’ve been here many times? Didn’t you become a collector something like two hundred years ago?”
“Yeah, I only personally went through this once, and it was more than two hundred years ago. Obviously things were different back then. But I still experienced the loss that you are experiencing now. Through the years though, through all of the trainings that I’ve done, I experienced this same thing over and over again, albeit secondhand through my trainees. I’ve had to walk their feelings through to the other side, just like I am with you right now. And let me tell you, buddy, you have it easy. When I made the transition, my trainer was a complete asshole. He used the tough love approach. And trust me, you would much prefer me than him.”
“Your trainer, is he still around?” I asked.
Hauser paced around the room almost as if he were looking for an exit. “Yes and no. He still exists, but he’s no longer a trainer. But enough about him and me. This is about you, and letting go.”
I nodded. “Isn’t there anything, just one single item, that I can keep? You know, as some kind of memento?”
Hauser shook his head and walked toward the door. “Sorry, bub. No bueno.”
“But Wilson had the coin. How was he able to keep that after he died?”
“Well, that doesn’t really count. And I think you know why.”
“No, please enlighten me,” I said, beginning to feel frustration build.
“The coin, along with many other items, are tools of the trade. They each do something special in the aid of soul collecting. With more experience, you will be able to gain more items as you go along.”
I knew the coin was able to bring back certain memories of the person’s past, but what did the rosary do, I wondered. “So, nothing of my own, not even an—”
“Nothing,” Hauser said with finality and walked out of the bedroom.
Before I could follow him, the female detective stepped into the room. The shocked look on her face was severely comical.
“Franklin!” she yelled.
As much as I wanted to hang back and watch Franklin fumble with an excuse, I wanted to—no, I needed to—continue the conversation with Hauser, so I followed him into the living room.
“Listen, Jack. I understand what you’re going through. Trust me, I get it. But the more you come back here, to your old life, the more difficult this transition is going to be for you. What you need to do right now is to think of a different place and jump there. You mustn’t come back here again. Ever. It’ll do you no good. Besides, within a week or two, this place will be cleared out completely. There’ll be nothing here for you to come back to.”
Feeling defeated, I nodded slightly. “It’s just so difficult, you know?”
“I do. But each of us handles this transition differently,” Hauser said as he glanced at his pocket watch. “Back in my day, this part of the transition was fairly easy for me. My background and heritage was—how should I say this?—different from your own. We put far less value in personal possessions than the world does today. To give up everything that I owned . . . let’s just say I didn’t give it a second thought.”
“Then how can you relate to my difficulty here?” I asked.
“It’s the vices that I struggled with,” Hauser said. He looked at me and smiled as he patted at his shirt pocket, looking for something. He continued to pat down his body, into his pants pockets, until he found what he was looking for. He slipped out a pack of gum and put a piece into his mouth. “It’s the vices that will kill you, let me tell you. Listen, Jack, regardless of how different our situations were, I know one thing: you’ll make it. You’ll just have to trust yourself and let go.”
“Just like that?”
“Yep, just like that.”
“Where should we go? I’m not sure I’m ready to collect the soul yet.”
“There’s no rush. The soul will be there whenever you’re ready, granted that you don’t take too long. Just pick a place. Make it your new home base, per se.”
“Home base?”
“Yeah, kind of like a security blanket. It’ll be your place to go that will always be there whenever you need to get away from it all, or to just be alone.”
I paced around the living room, thinking about various places that I could jump to. Most of them had some trace of Cyndi’s memory. I dismissed those and moved on to the next place in my mind. After a few moments of pondering, I knew right where I would be going.
I smiled at Hauser and vanished from the room.
Chapter 3
When I appeared next to the b
ench, I momentarily expected to see Wilson staring off into the ether, but that was just wishful thinking.
I sat down and wondered if Hauser would follow me directly or if he would give me time to truly find my own place. I had my answer the moment I leaned back and crossed my leg, as Hauser materialized right next to me. He sat in a mimicking fashion. I looked at him, noting his state of complete relaxation, and wondered how he could be so cavalier about what we do. As I continued to stare, he noticed me.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s nothing,” I lied. It didn’t feel right questioning his logic, seeing as he was going to be my trainer for the foreseeable future. “How is it that you knew where I would go?”
“Oh, it’s not that difficult. I knew you wouldn’t go to your place of employment, because I’ve already seen that video. You’ve already been to the bar, and you just left your apartment so . . .”
“Am I that predictable?” I asked.
Hauser chuckled. “Nah, kid. I had help.”
Hauser withdrew an antique monocle tucked into his shirt. It was attached to a lengthy bronze chain slung around his neck.
“This little gizmo helps me track other soul collectors as they jump from place to place. Every time you vanish from one place and materialize in another, you leave a faint trail, invisible to the naked eye. If I put this up to my eye, I can follow along. But only if I catch the scent quickly enough,” Hauser explained.
“Is that how you knew I was at Jake’s?” I asked.
“Yeah, sort of. I’ve been following you around all week, and knew you’d turn up there sooner or later. I was already there when you popped in.”
“What, you’ve been following me?” I asked, feeling a little violated.
“But of course. You’re the new kid on the block, and it’s kind of my job to keep you in line,” Hauser said. “So why this place? Is it because of Wilson?”
I looked at the advertisement for my apartment building plastered on the billboard across the street and pondered that very question. “I don’t know. I guess it’s probably something to do with him. It’s funny, I only knew the guy for thirty minutes, but I feel so connected to him. I can’t explain it.”
“Wilson will be missed, that’s for sure. He had a . . . a way of talking to people that made them feel special.” Hauser paused. “And for the record, I’m not at all knocking your choice of this here park bench as your special place. You should see mine,” Hauser chuckled.
“Okay, I’m intrigued. What is your place, or where is it?”
“Nuh-uh, compadre. Like I said, you’re the new kid, and not too many people know where my secret hideout is,” he said with a wink.
I nodded, even more interested to find out where it is that he goes.
Several minutes passed as we sat in silence. I had a million questions for Hauser, but I didn’t want to flood him with them all at once. Before I had a chance to ask one, Hauser spoke.
“So listen, sport. We both know that it’s been a few weeks since you got your last box. I think it’s about time you stop ignoring your responsibilities.”
“I’m not ignoring them. It’s just that I need some time, you know.”
“And that’s fine, some of the past collectors needed more time than you to get started, and some much less. But you have to realize that when you agreed to become a soul collector, you agreed to maintain the stream of soul boxes that come to you. There is only so much time before any one individual box can go before it needs to be filled,” Hauser said.
“How much time do I have?” I asked.
Hauser shrugged his shoulders. “You know, each soul is a little different. I’ve seen soul boxes fill nearly instantaneously, and I’ve seen some go along for months without being filled.”
“How do you know that my current box isn’t one of those? One of the long-term jobs?”
“Ahh, you got me there. But unless you at least attempt the collection, we’ll never know, now will we? Besides, the members of the Sentinel will not remain patient forever.”
“The Sentinel? Is that like God’s minions or something?” I asked jokingly.
“Nah, it’s got nothing to do with God. He’s around, but he’s got more important things to deal with. Let’s just say the Sentinel are our employers and leave it at that,” Hauser said with finality, his eyes darting around as he shivered slightly.
As I contemplated this new bit of cryptic information, Hauser pulled out a pocket watch that was quite peculiar. Its face had no numbers. Instead, I could see faint images around its perimeter. After a moment of looking at it, he clicked it closed, returned it to his pocket, and stood up.
“Listen, kid, I’m going to cut you a little slack, but not too much. I know you’re full of questions, and we’ll get to all of them in good time. But for now, do me a favor. Go visit your intended mark. For all we know, she’s ripe for the picking.”
I stood up to follow Hauser and asked, “But aren’t you going with me?”
“I’ve got someplace I need to be right now, but I’ll meet up with you at the hospital shortly. I’ll only be a few minutes—a half hour tops,” he said before vanishing.
Instinctively I looked at my wrist for the time and realized for the hundredth time that I’d forgotten to put on a watch. I looked up into the sky to see where the sun was, hoping it would give me a clue as to the time of day. In the small park nestled at the center of the city, the buildings prevented me from seeing the sun directly. My best guess was that it was midafternoon by the warm temperature around me.
I withdrew the box from my pocket and read the name aloud—“Abigail Whitaker”—but nothing happened. I didn’t beam to her hospital bedside. Convinced that something was wrong, I shook the box and tried it again. “Abigail Whitaker.” Nothing.
Still holding the box, I sat back on the park bench and thought through some of Hauser’s words. Actually, only two words were occupying my mind. The Sentinel. Who were they, and why did Hauser clam up when I asked about them? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Hauser was a little afraid of them. I wondered if Wilson had ever met any of the Sentinel himself or if Hauser was the only one that had any dealings with them. Like a go-between guy.
Then there were other oddities that piqued my curiosity. The monocle and his pocket watch. I wondered how many of these kind of special items existed for the soul collector’s job. Personally, I had two. I was familiar with the function of the coin, but I still didn’t know what the rosary did, or if it even had an ability.
The longer I sat on the bench, contemplating the ever-increasing list of questions, the more I knew that if I wasn’t at the hospital when Hauser got through with whatever it was he was doing, things would not look good for me. I did my best to push everything from my mind and only think about the hospital where Abigail Whitaker lay dying. A moment later I disappeared from the park bench.
Chapter 4
When I arrived at the hospital, I didn’t land in Abigail’s room. I instead landed on the first floor, near the bank of elevators. Sure, I could have just as easily popped right into her room, or at least to her same floor, but coming into the hospital as I did was a calculated effort. I needed to ease myself back in.
It wasn’t until I was standing in front of the elevator doors that I realized that taking the lift would not be an option. Not with the slew of people milling about the hospital. I walked around the corner and found the stairway access, and thankfully no one was around.
As the clang of the door echoed through the stairway, I began my assent to the seventh floor. With each step, my mind continued to dwell on what had prevented me from coming back to the hospital. The memory of Cyndi. It had been almost two weeks ago that I had last seen my wife alive. Now here I was, back in the same building, heading up to the same floor where she’d died.
The inevitable nature of my new job would most certainly bring me back to this hospital many times, and that inevitability was not lost on me. But knowing that still didn’
t make it easier.
I continued to trudge up the steps, holding my head down, watching my feet rhythmically climb, step by step, trying to think of anything but Cyndi. As I rounded the corner at the fifth floor landing, I ran into another person.
“Hey now, watch where you’re going,” Hauser said.
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Jesus, Hauser. What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, my pulse racing.
“Waiting for you, naturally. I, too, often take the stairs. Keeps the energy level up,” he said, falling into stride next to me. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
I nodded, and we climbed the remaining two flights of stairs in awkward silence. It seemed like with every additional interaction with Hauser, I was more puzzled. I wondered, was I the one that was strange, or was he?
As we reached the seventh floor, Hauser inched the door open and peeked through the crack. A moment later, he fully opened the door and stepped through.
“All clear, buddy,” he said.
I followed him through and into the empty corridor. He moved at such a quick pace, it took effort for me to keep up with him.
“Hey, what’s the rush?” I asked. “Do you know something that I don’t?”
“No sir. I’m just a firm believer in a diligent work habit,” he said as he rounded the corner and headed for the ICU ward. As he stepped up to the secured doors, he reached over and pressed the call button multiple times to the tune of Shave and a Haircut. When he finished, he glanced over at me and winked.
“Enjoying yourself?” I asked.
“If you’ve been doing this job as long as I have, kid, you’d try to make every moment enjoyable too. Otherwise, you might just go crazy.”
Within seconds, a buzzer sounded, and Hauser pulled the door open and stepped through. As we walked through the outskirts of the ICU, my eyes darted to the room where Cyndi had been. Common sense told me she was long since gone, but instinct prevailed.
The Borrowed Souls: A Novel Page 9